


Hands Tied

by frek



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Bottom Derek, Bottom Derek Hale, Light Bondage, M/M, Silence, Silence Kink, Top Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-09 00:11:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frek/pseuds/frek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Of all the bad decisions he has made, Stiles is not one. Stiles is the best good decision he could have made.</i>
</p><p>Shameless bottom!Derek pwp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands Tied

Derek is bent over on the bed, hands tied together at the small of his back, face pressing into the mattress. He can feel Stiles behind him, his usual constant stream of consciousness banter gone in this moment. The silence from Stiles fills the room more than his voice ever did. It's heavy. Loud. Overwhelming. Derek can hear every uptick of Stiles' heartbeat. Every intake of breath. Every swallow. And every suppressed moan. Even in silence, Stiles is loud. Loud in a way that only Derek can hear. In a way that he reserves just for Derek.

Derek's own disused voice fills the room as Stiles presses one slick finger against his hole. It resembles a whimper more than Derek will ever admit, though he doesn't need to. He knows it pleases Stiles. And in this room. Like this. Derek lives to please Stiles.

Derek feels the press of lips just below his hands, at the base of his spine. Just a soft, reverent little gesture, but it's enough to let him relax. Relax before he feels Stiles' finger press fully inside him. The intrusion doesn't feel as strange as it did the first time. It's welcome now. He needs it.

He remembers the first time they did this, that Derek had admitted he trusted Stiles enough. The look on Stiles face when Derek had asked him, had expressed his needs, is embedded in Derek's memory. His eyes were wide, his expression open, like he couldn't believe that Derek would give this to him. It was how Derek knew he had made the right decision. Had chosen the right person.

And even now, with Stiles' finger pressing deep into him and his soft, soft mouth pressing against the small of his back, Derek doesn't doubt a moment of his life since he had chosen Stiles. Of all the bad decisions he has made, Stiles is not one. Stiles is the best good decision he could have made.

Stiles continues to prove it to Derek over and over. When he doesn't even need to ask Derek what he wants. When he can read it on Derek's face as if his face is just as open as Stiles' always is. When Stiles will lead Derek to the bedroom, his voice suddenly going silent as they cross the threshold to the room. He'll strip Derek down, hands gentle and careful in ways that Derek would have never believed Stiles capable. And when Derek is standing bare before Stiles in more ways than one, Stiles will remove his own clothing in clear view of Derek, their eyes never leaving each other.

Even now, when Derek's eyes are closed, his face pressed into the soft comforter of the bed, the overwhelming scent of _them_ filling his nose, flooding his body, Derek can still picture Stiles. He can see the reverent way Stiles looks at him as he's spread out beneath him because he's seen it so many times. And every time it has taken his breath away. That anyone would look at him like that. Like he is _everything_ to them. Everything to Stiles. And only Stiles could make him believe it.

Derek rocks back against Stiles' finger, his body asking for more, his breath hitching in his chest as Stiles gives it to him. Another finger, slick and long, sliding in with the first. Stiles grips Derek's hip with his other hand, holding him steady as he slowly begins to stretch him open, drawing out the moment for as long as he can. Stiles knows what Derek can handle, knows it better than even Derek does. It scares Derek sometimes. That there is a person out there that can take him apart like this. That there is someone he lets do it.

The wider Stiles' stretches Derek, the harder it is for him to keep quiet. For once, Stiles is quiet and Derek is not. Derek gasps and moans and breathes out small little pleas for more. He's rewarded for each and every one. Rewarded with small kisses along his back and thighs. Rewarded with a crook of a sinfully long finger just so. Rewarded with the way Stiles slowly takes him apart until he's nothing but open nerves and raw emotion and he feels like he may never fully recover.

Derek's cock hangs heavy between his thighs, untouched so far by Stiles. Derek's up on his knees and no amount of thrusting of his hips gives him the friction his body craves. Stiles knows this, makes it clear by the way his fingers dig into Derek's hip every time he tries to move. Derek knows that he could pull out of Stiles' grip easily if he chose. But he doesn't. He needs to give control to Stiles. Needs to let someone else worry about him. Someone who knows what's best. Stiles does. He always has.

When Stiles slides a third finger inside him, it burns and Derek lets out a low whine with the stretch of it. Stiles soothes him with a kiss against his hip and a careful brush of his fingers over his dick, sending a spark of pleasure through Derek's body, erasing the memory of discomfort. Those fingers are gone a moment later, though, when Derek's body grows used to the stretch and it no longer aches but feels good. Stiles knows when it does, can see when the tense muscles in Derek's back relax and he's shifting his hips again, asking for more without saying a word.

Derek always wants more of Stiles. Can never get enough. And Stiles, being who he is, always gives Derek everything he wants. He never does anything halfway. Stiles has always been an all or nothing kind of guy and Derek has never been more thankful for it as he is when Stiles is carefully dismantling every barrier Derek has ever built up. Each barrier is pushed away like an article of clothing. Unzipped and unbuttoned, slipped off and left on the floor, forgotten in the moment because there is no room for them here. Not when there is so much already between Stiles and Derek. So much that can't be seen. Not even with his supernatural vision.

Just when Derek is on the edge of begging for more, Stiles pulls his fingers free from him. It leaves Derek feeling empty and with an ache that is nothing like the one earlier. Stiles knows this and calms Derek again with his lips and his fingers, never breaking the contact that he knows Derek desperately needs. 

Even now, Stiles doesn't say anything. His breathing has picked up, his heart rate steadily increasing, but Derek never hears his voice. Derek likes to imagine what Stiles would say to him if he spoke in these moments. Would he praise Derek now? Whisper that he loves him, that he looks beautiful like this? Would his words contradict the way he touches Derek? Derek doesn't think so. He thinks Stiles would speak with the same way he touches him, gentle and loving, full of reverence and adoration. Derek's glad Stiles doesn't speak. It means more than words ever could. He knows Stiles understands.

Derek can hear the wet sounds of Stiles slicking his cock, it builds the anticipation he feels. His own dick is leaking, pre-come dripping and stringing to pool on the comforter. He knows what comes next and his body is hungry for it. He moans as he hears Stiles crawl closer, feels the dip of the mattress beneath his knees as he settles in between Derek's legs. And suddenly he's there again, his hand moving over his skin, brushing over his bound hands, gripping his hip. Every touch is a testament of love to Derek.

When Derek feels the press of Stiles against his opening, he gasps. All that stretching suddenly doesn't feel like enough. Stiles is thicker than his fingers ever prepared him for, but Derek doesn't stop him. He needs to feel Stiles push into him. Fill him. He wants the memory of how it feels to be filled up by Stiles to be burned into him. Into his memory. Into his flesh. 

Derek's fingers flex and stretch as Stiles pushes deeper into him. He can hear Stiles' breathing pick up, his heart quicken. Derek lets those sounds fill him as much as Stiles' cock does. He listens for more, for the barely suppressed whimpers that lets Derek know that Stiles is almost home. Derek pushes back then, toward Stiles until he feels his hips pressed flush against him, feels him fully seated inside him. Then and only then does Derek still, his hands curled together in their binds, his breath shallow and measured as he grows accustomed to the feel of Stiles inside him, stretching him in the best of ways.

Derek loves this moment, the long wait between acts. He loves knowing that Stiles is practicing such control, that the fingers flexing on his hips is the only outward show that Stiles is aching to move inside him. He loves knowing that Stiles understands how much Derek loves this moment. That Stiles gives him every second of it. That Stiles will every time. Until the moment that Stiles knows Derek is ready for more. Until Derek's body relaxes again and Stiles can move with ease.

And when he does, it's everything Derek could wish for. Stiles starts slow, just the gentle drag of his cock inside him as he pulls out and then presses back in. Stiles' fingers dig into Derek's hips with each careful thrust. Derek knows that he's leaving bruises there and loves it. The fact that they'll be gone within moments of them finishing, though, makes something catch inside Derek's chest. He whimpers with the thought of it, slowly beginning to rock back against Stiles, inviting him deeper.

Stiles begins to move faster at Derek's insistence. At the way that Derek pushes back against him despite his prone positioning. Stiles never tells Derek no. Not in their room. His thrusts are measured and deep, just hard enough to press Derek further into the mattress each time his hips meet Derek's ass. Derek becomes more vocal as he hears Stiles' breathing come out in rough gasps, knowing how it eggs him on. He can smell the arousal coming off Stiles whenever he moans for him, hear the jolt in his heart, feel the stutter of his hips. He knows that everything in Stiles is with him in this. That only makes him gasp louder.

Derek is so close. Stiles' hand had only found his cock once so far. He knows he can come untouched. Stiles has done it before. It was devastating in the best possible way. But tonight Derek wants Stiles' hand on him. Wants to feel his long fingers wrapping around him, sliding over him, moving with his foreskin. He says as much when Stiles pushes inside him again, the first words he's said since they started. They sound strange in the air, the rough sound of his voice lingering in his ears.

Stiles obliges and Derek lets out a long, drawn out moan. Derek's hips are moving faster now, pushing back against Stiles as he thrusts and then forward into Stiles' hand. It's overwhelming and everything Derek needs right then. His every nerve is burning with the pleasure that's building in him, that _Stiles_ is giving him. He can feel Stiles' hips beginning to lose their rhythm, knows that Stiles is getting close. Knows that it won't take much to bring Stiles over the edge with him. And Derek is _ready_. He needs it.

And really, all it'll take is Derek letting go. Derek knows this and takes advantage. He closes his eyes and moves against Stiles as best he can, feeling Stiles' fingers slide over the head of his cock. Derek gasps as he feels his release building, his muscles tensing. He flexes his hands in his restraints, grasping at air, needing something to hold onto. Suddenly Stiles' hand is gripping Derek's hands and the tension in his body snaps, his vision going white, and Derek is coming, spilling out over Stiles' hand and the comforter. His voice is hoarse as he gasps out Stiles' name, praising him as he feels Stiles' body curl over his. Stiles' hips rock into him once more, then twice and he's coming and filling Derek and it's everything Derek wants and needs. He's surrounded by Stiles inside and out. He's everywhere. In Derek's mind. On his tongue. He has his scent. The sound of his pounding heart in his ears. Everything is Stiles and that's all that matters.

Soon enough, Derek feels Stiles' hands working the knots free on his wrists, the ropes loosening enough that Derek can easily pull his hands free. Stiles slips out of Derek a moment later, resting on his side on the bed, pulling Derek down to lay beside him. Derek goes easily, letting Stiles' hands massage his wrists, restoring proper blood flow, until Stiles is wrapping his arms and legs around Derek, pulling him close. And finally, finally, Derek hears Stiles' voice as Stiles presses his lips to Derek's face, his mouth, his cheeks, his jaw. He whispers against Derek's skin with his disused voice, telling him how much he loves him, how wonderful he is, how good he did. Everything Derek needs to hear and more.

Stiles doesn't stop talking for as long as Derek can tell. It's like the self imposed silence is just a stopper and the moment that it's pulled Stiles can't stop what comes out. He tells Derek everything that he loves about him, about what they've done. He pets and kisses Derek's skin as he speaks, fingers working over sore muscles and tired limbs until Derek is asleep in his arms.

And when Derek wakes up, he's the first thing he sees.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [frek](http://frek.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
